For a Memory
by Ganimyde
Summary: A short AC where Al's dying, and the rest of Ed's family has died. Pleasingly painful to read.


_For a Memory_

"Eh—" Ed flinched back a little, his face knotted with concern. He quickly rocked back forward, the hopelessness far too apparent in his voice as he took up Al's hand in his own. "How can— How can you _say_ something like that, Alphonse!" he begged, all but screaming. "I'm not going to stand for—"

Alphonse squeezed his hand, a sympathetic but also apologetic look upon his face as he closed his eyes. "Don't. We both know what's going on, and . . . there's nothing we can do." He shook his head and cupped his other palm on top of Edward's hand. "Don't try to argue, brother. Nothing's going to change."

The shiver that jolted through Ed's spine made him sit up straighter. "I—you can't!" he protested, wanting nothing more than to double over in pain. "You—your wife's in there having a _baby_, how can you just _give up_ on_ life_ over here!"

"Edward, my wife's having a baby, shut _up_ . . ." he mumbled, massaging the fog of pain out of his head.

"But Al—!" He came forward over the bed. "I can't lose—!"

"Shh." Al held up his hand. "I'm not going to let you, argue, Ed—I don't have much time, I think, and my wife needs someone in there."

"What the—don't make me make that decision!" Ed's eyes were filling with tears. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You've got to see your kid!" His face twisted with red. "I didn't bring you back just so you couldn't stay to see this!"

"I know, I know." Alphonse gave a weak smile, laced with a grimace. He gave Ed a kind nod and sucked in a shaky breath in the long seconds until he continued. "But there's something I need to tell you Ed, and I'm not going to let you argue, so listen for a minute."

"I can't— I—"

Edward stopped himself and hid his wet eyes behind his hands. Al sighed and stared into space as he melted into the pillow. "This child. . . . If I make it, you know I would make you its godfather anyway, but if I don't . . ." His swallow was hard. "If I— I want you to take care of my wife and child like they were your own. I know you would, anyway—Iris's always been like a sister to you, and—"

"Shut up, Alphonse!" He grabbed his head and turned away from him completely. "What the hell! Just because . . . I lost _my_ entire family—you think giving me _yours_ is going to make up for them somehow? And _you?!_ You're all I have left! You can't leave me like this!"

Al looked toward the wall, his voice a grieved whisper. "I'm sorry about this, brother, I really am, but . . . none of you deserve to be alone." He bit his lip, but then sighed. "Iris has always been like a sister to you, and . . . I've seen the way you two grieve. . . . You'd come together over time anyway, and I just want you to know, it's okay if you do. . . ."

Ed put his head in his hands and sobbed. "I can't _take_ this! Don't _do_ this to me, don't _say _things like that!"

Alphonse bit his lip and put his grey hand on his brother's hiccupping shoulder. He always needed help, and Al always wanted to give it. "It's alright to grieve, Edward; and I'm rather glad you do it now, so that I can heal you while I'm able."

Ed buried his head under the dark comfort of his enfolded arms, a tortured cry escaping from the back of his throat. He shivered, and collapsed into crying.

Al couldn't help but shiver as Ed fell into his cold body, his brother's limbs uncontrollable but for his attempt to clutch the sheets between his hands. He cried, because it was his last chance to plea for everything to disappear as he lay in the swirling warmth. The void in his aching heart was breaking open, as the memories of the people he had held inside these sheets disappeared with the last person he had ever loved, the last person he had ever shared his heart with.

There had been lovers here, dieties over memories in the dark that ran rampant, lovely, exotic, and sweet through his senses. His wife had been here, a beautiful, priceless gift he had held against himself in the light of every perfect morning, and there had been the children they had made and loved in this house, two little girls he would comfort like this until their coughs subsided or their nightmares vanished into daylight and they slept. Two little girls that showered him with love and clung to him for help; creations of his. There had also been a baby, an infant that never saw but his arms before he had to put him to rest, too.

Alphonse . . . For so many nights, he comforted him; so much they held each other, for a lifetime of troubles before they were eighteen years old. Days and nights, whenever it was needed, in silence or by a window with unsettling sounds of vulnerability, they were always there for each other. But, this bed, this whole life of his, like so many grains of sand from a broken bottle, spilled over the wooden floor, and Al ceased to be anything but the remnants of something, so beautiful, that he could never have back again.

Edward held his brother like everything else he was ever going to lose, everything that had ever slipped through his hands and rended his heart when he thought about what he'd lost. This time, though, he cried into Al's shoulder, where so many times before he had been strong for the lost ones, hiding his tears until the bodies were nothing but cold, because this time, there would be no more without Alphonse; he couldn't stomach the truth. Before his eyes, he saw the bottle of colored sands, finely worked into a tiny picture, drop off the edge of the hearth, and he couldn't catch it, even if he fell into hell's deep, wide embrace after it.

Alphonse kept his arms around Edward's jerking shoulders and stroked his warm back softly, whispering reassurances without words. Soon, a child of his would be brought into the world, one that could cry or love or simply _be,_ from his merger with his wife. . . . Science could not compare to this, it was simply _life, _and he was going to miss it. Al stroked Ed's back, he wondered if someone would find Ed's body---perfect, able, a beautiful plethora of tiny cells working together to sustain life--- slashed into bloodied, broken ribbons a few days from now. Eyes so lifeless. . . . Would he have to suffer even in his death? Alphonse was getting to go easily; it shouldn't be Edward's fate to die just as hard and tragically as he had been forced to live.

"I can't," he said. "I can't lose you_, too, _Alphonse!I have nothing _left!_"

Al made a small, tender noise as he wrapped his arms around Ed's neck and cradled his head on his brother's arms. "It's all right, brother. . . . I'll be here when you get back. But right now, Iris needs someone to hold her hand, you know that."

"But I won't, Alphonse! When this may be the last time we ever see each other, how could you ever expect me to do anything butdo everything I can to save you?"

"Do you really want to lose me just like mom?" Al rubbed Ed's back, over and over. "This won't be the last time we see each other. I'll be waiting for you on the other side. Now go and help my wife. She needs it. I know you're here for me."

* * *

Holding Iris's hand got his mind off of his brother, but not much: It simply made him remember what he was missing.

How could he possibly love a child that was of Alphonse, and yet was never going to be part of Alphonse's life at all?

_The infant had been almost blue when it was first brought into this world. Yet, it had received little of the care it needed from the woman who had delivered it. Pinako had cut the chord and then simply but quickly handed him over to his father, and then went back to the mother._

_"You remember how to do this from before, right?" she asked._

_Edward had only nodded, looking once to his wife, the mother of his now three children, before moving off to help that third child. His wife was bleeding to death; he already knew that. She did too. And the child . . . the back of his mind kept crying, _what if I lose both?_in the most pitiful of cries, but he was unable to feel it in his nerves; he was simply, numb._

_So he did everything he could---everything they knew how to do---before eventually wrapping the so very quiet infant in a tiny blanket, delicate as the child himself, and holding him in his arms._

_For so long, he stood there, letting the baby—his baby—warm against him and feel the only comfort in its small life while he watched his wife without sound. From far away, he realized he was so very stoic. Without a nerve letting him respond. Even the tears that eventually spilled down his cheeks meant nothing, and _did _nothing._

_"Edward." He flinched. "Come here."_

_Pinako squeezed his shoulder, and took the child for a moment, even though his mechanically-minded arms didn't want to give the bundle up. But she unfolded a little bit of the blanket and beheld, then set him back with his father. She had watched what he had done, and knew there was nothing more she could do._

_She left the room, and Edward never knew where she had been that night._

_He sat by his wife with a brief, trembling smile. "It's a boy," he said, offering the baby to her._

_She held him, folding her useless arms around where the child was set in her lap._

_She sighed, and the little thing started to whimper._

_She bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she begged, fat tears dripping down her cheeks as she blinked. "So, so sorry. . . ." She lifted the side of her finger to touch his cheek. The round, pale face turned to it, but instead of trying to suckle, turned back away and began to protest louder._

_She choked up, face red and puffy, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, little one, but it looks like you'll be warmer with your daddy. I can't . . . help you."_

_Everything teetering on the edge came crashing down over Ed. His wife, who had given him everything he had---after Alphonse and his lives were let free again---who had shown him so much in his life that he could never, _ever_ forget or cease to be in love with her, turned her face up to him and tried to lift their baby back to him._

_"I'm sorry, Edward," she begged him, trying not to look at the fact that she wasn't succeeding. Beyond the baby, her blue eyes were obscured with tears. "I can't help you anymore."_

_I'm sorry _was what she had said, and what he remembered to this very day. And as Edward had held her with one arm while she leaned against his shoulder, and their little son close against them with the other, his world began to fall apart again.

Soon, sand would lay in pools upon the floor, where it should have been in tiny little bottles on the mantle place of his home. He remembered looking at those, the sandscapes he had made for each member of his family as they came into being, while his newborn's life sputtered out in his arms, and his daughters died upstairs.

One after another, they had fallen sick and died in pain. It only took two nights for every one he treasured to shatter and fall through his hands into nothing. What remained of his life was nothing but a mound of multi-colored sand. Al's bottle was the only one still standing, and something about that made it hurt all the worse.

And when Alphonse had returned two days later with his wife of six months, from the conference in Central— Ed often replayed in his mind what it looked like when Al found him sitting in a silent house, four caskets at his sides.

* * *

"_At least let me say 'goodbye,'_" Ed whispered, putting a perfect red rose, not even blossomed, on the beautiful grave.

Iris watched him silently, and said her own prayers in her mind. She held her child in one arm, and it was more comforting that way. Ed stood back up and squeezed her hand harder than she had the resolve to do to him.

"All we have is each other now, Iris. And . . . his baby."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks when she spoke next, and even though it felt so wrong, she turned to him: "Edward. . . . Would you . . . stay with us tonight? I don't think . . . either of us can make it. . . . Alone," she added as an afterthought.

He turned to her as well, though only slightly, and after staring at the upset ground, swallowed hard and held her green eyes, a tiny bit of hope hiding somewhere in his.

"I would like—"

The small luster suddenly snuffed out, before his eyes caught sight of the gravestone and he ripped them away. He forced himself to continue. "I would like to do that, Iris, yes."

Somehow, he managed to smile before the pain came back and he was wiping away water streaming down again. He wouldn't want him to cry on his grave—

"Come, then," she said softly, pulling on his arm. "He told me not to let you stay alone."

"_Hm?_" His red face jerked up. "When!"

"A long time ago," she said. She did not look at him. "Come, Edward. I want you to come and stay by our fireplace. I want you to build a sandscape for good us, for luck. Help me watch him grow."

He shot out a small breath with his deadened smile as she brought him to remember his feet and walk. "Pinako will be waiting."

He was still crying as he left the hard ground of the cemetery behind him. Alphonse knew him all along. Maybe this time, he could keep the little bottles from falling, if he was right next to where they stood.

"_It should be me! Why do I get to live? You're the most gentle person on Earth, how can I be the one that lives. . . ?"_

_Alphonse sighed and ran his hand down his brother's head, around his back and along his arm. "It has nothing to do with what 'should.' This is how things have become, and you can't do anything about it. Life does strange things, and there's no reason you should be pained from it. I have to tell you, Ed, if you're still alive, there's got to be something you can live for. And there will always be something you're good at. It may be hard, but I'll be there with you."_

"_But. . . ." Ed's face and eyes were streaked with red when he lifted his head._

"_Do not worry about me, Ed. One of these days, you will realize that people say 'I want _you _to live,' because there's something more to it you aren't seeing." Alphonse smiled. "There's something great to life, even when things like this happen. This is the way it works. That's what we get for being human, and getting to see it all."_

_He smiled, even as Ed did nothing but cry._

"_I'll see you in Heaven."_


End file.
